The Seventh Friend
by Blunz
Summary: "I see them, but they can't see me. I've always wondered if there was any way that I could join them—become the seventh friend." (OC)
1. I See Them

_Hey, look, I have a new story!_

_I know, it's crazy. I already have, like, sixteen thousand uncompleted stories, but all my others stories are just so . . ._

_They're just . . ._

_Well, they suck._

_For once, I would like to write a story that does not . . . suck. Who knows, maybe this one will suck just as much as my others, but I have a good feeling about this story._

_Basically, this story observes how a seventh addition to the group of Friends would affect the way all their lives pan out. The only difference in the beginning is that the coffeehouse, Central Perk, was never once a bar like it was on the show._

_Note: This story is not a self-insert story. The narrator of this story, Anna, is an original character (OC), and she may have some things in common with me, but she is not me. She is Anna; I am . . . Blunz?_

_Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 1 - **_**I See Them**_

I see them, but they can't see me.

Who am I? The quiet kid; the nerd; the wallflower. Nobody important, really. I'm just some ordinary woman in a coffee shop. _They're_ the important ones.

Why else would they speak so loudly while everybody else talks in hushed voices? Why else would they sit on the couch in the very _center_ of the coffeehouse? It's like this is all a show, and they're the stars.

Yet, somehow, I can't bother to be mad at them. For some reason—some strange, illogical reason—I've always _wondered_; wondered if there was any way that I could join them—become the seventh friend. But . . . no, it could never happen. I may know all their names, first and last, but they probably don't even know that I exist.

I started coming to this coffee shop, Central Perk, a few years ago, just after graduating from college. I really liked the place. It had a homey feel, like I was drinking coffee in my own living room—except, in my _own_ living room, I'm always alone.

But I'm alone here, too, aren't I? The most talking I do besides in my head are a few exchanged words between me and the white-haired guy who gives me my coffee every day. It doesn't matter how many people I surround myself with; I will always be _alone_.

Anyway, I'm getting a bit off topic. So, I started coming to this coffee shop every day. I don't even _like_ coffee; I just liked the atmosphere. I found it good for working. Studies have found that coffee shop sounds stimulate focus. And then, one day, these four people came in, and they squeezed into that big comfy couch in the middle of the room, taking up the entire space because of how large their group was. They seemed to like the place, and they started coming here every day—just like _me_, except they were not alone.

And, _boy_, were they _loud_. Over time, I was easily able to pick up on their names and personalities:

Monica, the obsessive cleaner.

Phoebe, the quirky one.

Ross, the nerd.

Chandler, the funny guy.

And this is how I defined them, as if people are so easily definable—but I could easily use any of those four descriptions to define _myself_. Well, maybe not the funny one, but I try.

One day, when they entered the coffee shop, there was another person with them. He had jet-black hair, and his name was Joey. That was when I started picking up on the relationships between these five people. Monica and Phoebe were roommates, as well as Chandler and Joey. Chandler and Ross had been college roommates, and Monica and Ross were siblings. Other than that, they were all just friends. Until Rachel showed up, a few months later.

The original four friends had been going to the coffee shop for about five months at that point, Joey for about three. And then, about a month ago, their group gained yet another member.

The day had started off fairly normal. Chandler had told this funny story to Phoebe, Joey, and Monica about an amusing dream of his. And then Ross came into the shop, telling his friends and sister about how his wife had moved out. Apparently, she was a lesbian and had found someone else. And I realized that this guy was more than just a nerdy science-lover. And I realized that these seemingly happy-go-lucky friends did not lead perfect lives, as it had seemed not five minutes before.

But not five minutes later did things get plain _weird_.

A woman wearing a soaked white dress ran in, immediately heading toward the counter where I was sitting. She stood right next to me as she gave a worker at the counter a perfect description of Monica. Then, Monica went over to her, and they started talking and catching up, and they were so close to me, it made me nervous and claustrophobic.

They eventually moved back over toward the couch area, where they continued to catch up. Apparently, what had happened was that the woman, Rachel, had left some guy at the altar because he looked like a potato—or something like that—and apparently she wanted to have sex with a gravy boat? I don't know; maybe I wasn't hearing correctly.

Anyway, it eventually became excruciatingly obvious that Ross had a crush on this mess of a woman, yet she never seemed to notice. Oh, and Ross also later found out that his lesbian ex-wife was pregnant, so that's interesting.

And every day, I would come here to this coffee shop and listen in on their conversations. They're having one right now, except the conversation is mostly Chandler and Ross making fun of Joey because he's going to be playing as a butt-double for some guy in an upcoming movie.

I get engrossed in their conversation, forgetting to hide the fact that I'm watching them. My elbow sits on the counter with my chin resting in my hand as I watch and listen.

Ross begins to make some stupid joke: "So you gonna invite us all to the big open—" He stops mid-sentence, staring right in my direction. He turns to the others and whispers, not very quietly, "I think that woman is watching us."

* * *

_The other chapters will most likely be a little longer. Sorry if the updates come slowly; I don't get much writing time in a day._

_Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed!_


	2. Hot Damn

_Thanks for the reviews!_

_**Boris Yeltsin**__ – Well, that certainly is a good sign._

_**Prof-the F.R.I.E.N.D.S fanatic **__– Thank you for your kind words._

_I was not expecting to update so quickly. I would not anticipate these daily updates, if I were you guys._

_I hope you guys enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 2 – **_**Hot Damn**_

After a brief whispered argument among the group during which the other five exhort Ross that he is insane and that I'm not even looking in their general direction and that they don't even see any "weird short redhead," as Ross described me, and during which Joey insists that any girl looking in their direction is probably just checking him out, I finally grow sick of listening to these people talk about me as if I'm not even here (and as far as five out of six of them are concerned, I'm not), and I decide to stand up, push my way through the afternoon crowd, and walk over to them.

(Hot damn, that was a long sentence.)

It's not until I'm within five feet of these people that it finally occurs to me that I have no idea what I plan to say. I can't just introduce myself as the person who has been watching and eavesdropping on their conversations for the past six months. Not that I'm all too familiar with the field of friend-making, but I speculate that's not the way to go. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), Ross notices me and speaks up before I have the chance to say anything.

"You." The word comes out accusatory, and I freeze up. He stands up as if to make himself eye-level with me, but I now realize that he's nearly a foot taller than I am, and I have to tilt my head up to properly see his face. "You, who are you?"

I point to myself, silently asking if he's referring to me, like there would be anyone else he would be speaking to right now; I'm just not used to people directly addressing me. He nods. "Oh, um, I'm— My—my name is Anna." I don't give Ross a chance to ask another question. "I— You're probably wondering why I was, y'know, staring at you and whatnot. Well, there is most definitely a perfectly good explanation for that. You see, I was . . . I was just . . ." He raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. "I swear I'm not a creep, okay?"

Oh, yes, _very_ convincing.

"Look, _Anna_, I don't know what your problem is," Ross says, "but maybe you should just leave me and my friends _alone_, all right?"

"No, I wasn't— I mean, I never meant to— I just—"

"I know _we_ were doing it, but you have no right to make fun of some guy you don't even know," Ross interrupts me.

That finally shuts me up. "Huh?"

"Look, I get that the whole butt-double thing is funny," Ross continues. "Heck, we were _all_ making fun of him; I even had this killer joke I was about to deliver about whether he was going to invite us to the— Never mind. My point is: We're his _friends_; you're just some _stranger_. And don't act like you weren't judging him. I _saw_ you staring."

Oh. _That's_ what he thought I was doing.

"Oh, no, that's not— This is going to sound crazy, I'm sure," I begin, "but I've always . . . I've always kind of admired the friendship the six of you share, and I just . . . I just . . . Maybe I should go."

I take off running out of the coffee shop, leaving a bewildered Ross behind.

. . .

I head back to my apartment, sprinting in case he decided to follow me. I don't know why I think he would. He probably just thinks I'm some weirdo who doesn't need to be bothered with. It's such a shame; I'll never be able to return to that coffee place. This thought fills me with more sorrow than the realization that I left my laptop at the counter. I can always get a new laptop, but I'll never be able to find a new coffeehouse that is as lovely as the blessed Central Perk, and I'll never find a group as fascinating to stalk as Ross, Joey, Chandler, Rachel, Monica, and Phoebe.

A quiet sob escapes me as I turn the corner just before my apartment building.

I freeze in my tracks, my shoes skidding to a stop on the concrete beneath my feet. My mouth gapes open. _No_, I think. _No, please, not now._

I only stand there, frozen in shock, a moment longer; then, I take off in the direction of my burnt-black apartment building, which is surrounded by fire trucks.

. . .

"Excuse me, Mr. Fireman, sir?" I move in front of him to try to get his attention.

"Yes, ma'am, what seems to be the problem?" He turns toward me, wearing his fireproof suit and carrying his fire helmet in his hand. He appears to be the type to make direct eye-contact with a person when speaking to them, which I suppose is not all that odd, but it makes me nervous, nonetheless.

"Y—yeah, um, hi," I stutter. "My . . . my name is Anna Singletary; I live in Apartment 236B, and . . . Well, I couldn't help but notice that it appears to, well, it appears to be burnt to the ground."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry to inform you that a neighbor of yours left a lit cigarette unattended, which caused a fire, leading to both of your apartments burning down," the fireman replies. _Dammit, Heckles!_ I think. That old idiot was always smoking up the air. "Do you have somewhere you can stay while you search for a new apartment?"

"Oh, yeah, _sure_," I mutter. "Yeah, I'll be _fine_."

"Okay, well, if you need anything, my name is Vince." He hands me a card that states his name and informs me that he is a fireman, as if I couldn't already figure that out. I have no idea where the card came from. Do fire suits have pockets? Probably not. It wouldn't be a very smart idea to keep paper cards in there.

"'Kay," I say quietly. "Thanks." I spin on my heel and walk off, though I have no idea where to go now.

* * *

_This chapter wasn't really any longer than the previous. I guess this story will have short chapters, then. I find those kinds of stories easier to write, so that should work._

_I hope you guys enjoyed!_


	3. Die Hard Pizza Lovers

_Thanks for the reviews!_

_**Boris Yeltsin**__ – Thanks. I hope so, too. I'm glad I have some reviewers, though._

_**Prof-the F.R.I.E.N.D.S fanatic**__ – Huh. Chandler and Anna. "Channa." Interesting concept. I plan to make this story take place over the entire ten years of __Friends__, and logically Anna would have at least one boyfriend during that time, so I suppose "Channa" is not too irrational to envision. I'll definitely think about it._

_**Guest (Mar 12)**__ – Thank you for your kind words, and I certainly will try!_

_**Guest (Mar 26)**__ – Thank you. I hope you like this next chapter._

_I hope you guys enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 3 – **_**Die Hard Pizza Lovers**_

Okay, let's see: I could just go find a new apartment to live in and rent out the first half-decent one I see, but where could I get a new apartment on such short notice? I could go stay with a friend for a while until I find a new place to live. Oh, wait, that's right: I don't have any friends.

That's when it hits me full force: I am homeless.

_Homeless_. Me. Homeless. It just doesn't add up in my mind. One minute, I'm hanging out at the coffeehouse, getting work done, stalking those six noisy people without a care in the world—and the next minute, I'm _homeless_.

This day is such a nightmare.

After several minutes of thinking and walking around aimlessly, I realize that I've been subconsciously heading toward the apartment building in which Rachel, Monica, Chandler, and Joey live. Why I know they live there is beyond me. I often notice things on a subconscious level, and these things don't fully register to me until much later when they come in handy.

I feel I've been walking around for quite a while now, so the six have probably already returned to their respective apartments. I decide to follow whatever instinct it was that brought me here, and I walk toward the entrance to the building. I have to follow someone in since the door is locked from the outside. I take the stairs up to the floor on which four of my stalkees live. I dart my eyes from the door of Apartment 19 to the door of 20 and back. I can't remember which is the girls' apartment and which is the boys' (yet I can remember which building, floor, and two apartments they live in). I choose randomly, knocking on the door that displays the number 19. A few seconds later, the door opens, revealing Chandler on the other side.

I take a mental note that Apartment 19 is the guys' apartment.

Then, Chandler smiles and says, "Hi. Can I help you?"

Okay, good: He didn't see me in the coffeehouse. He doesn't know who I am. Just as I'm about to tell him, however, Ross appears next to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks without preamble.

"Um, I was— I was just—" I swallow. "Look, I'm sorry if I came off weird or creepy or whatever, but here's the thing: I just found out that my apartment burned down in a fire, and I—I was hoping that maybe . . . that you could . . . um . . ." Ross raises an eyebrow at me, urging me to continue. "Well, you see, I don't really know many people around here—I mean, I don't really have any friends I can stay with, so . . ."

"Wait, you said your apartment _burned down_?" Ross asks.

"Yeah," I mutter. "Idiot neighbor left a lit cigarette unattended. I _hate_ smokers."

Chandler shifts uncomfortably next to Ross. "Can someone explain to me what's going on here? Ross, do you know this woman?"

I don't give Ross the chance to say something. "My name is Anna. Ross and I, um, _met_ at that coffeehouse, Central Perk. I go there a lot."

Chandler smiles. "No kidding? Us too. We go there practically every day." He lets out a soft laugh. "You would think by now we would've noticed each other."

I chuckle nervously. "Yeah, you would think."

Ross sighs dramatically. "Well, while you two flirt, I'll order a pizza."

"Pizza?" I say impulsively, my eyes probably lighting up. Oh, damn me and my love for pizza.

"Yeah," Chandler says. "We're having a movie night. Just us guys, though. Apparently, the girls are not _Die Hard_ fans."

"What?" I nearly shout. "I love _Die Hard_!"

"You do?" Chandler asks, _his_ eyes lighting up. "That's awesome. Care to join us?" He moves away from the door to give me space to enter.

I step inside to find a small apartment with one main living room area, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. Joey sits on the couch in the living room playing a video game, and Ross is standing in the kitchen area on the phone to order our pizza.

"So," I say, "what kind of pizza are we getting?"

Joey on the couch barely turns his head to say, "The Joey Special."

"What's that?"

Chandler answers this time, leaving Joey to concentrate on his game. "Two pizzas." He says this with a sigh, like it's some banal inside joke, but I can't help but laugh.

"Sounds great," I say, grinning.

Ross hangs up the phone. "The pizzas are on their way."

"Okay, Joe," Chandler says, "finish your game so we can set up the movie."

In a somewhat whiny voice, Joey replies, "O-_kay_."

Half an hour later, we're all seated in front of the TV, in the middle of the movie, when the intercom buzzes. Joey pauses the movie and lets the pizza delivery guy up. He opens the door and pays for the four pizzas. The pizza guy leaves.

I stare at Joey quizzically. He notices. "What?"

"Wasn't the Joey Special _two_ pizzas?" I ask.

"Oh," he says, laughing. He gestures to two of the pizza boxes. "_These_ two pizzas are for Joey. You guys can share the rest."

I nod. "But of course."

We all dig into our pizzas. I take two slices; the guys each take about twenty.

"How is it that you guys can eat so much pizza and not be fat?" I assume that they do this a lot.

Chandler replies through a bite of pizza. "We're secretly Hollywood movie stars."

I laugh. "Don't you have to be attractive to be a Hollywood star?" The guys all glare at me, which only makes me laugh harder.

"You know," Joey says, changing the subject, "I'm actually an actor."

I try to act surprised, as if I didn't already know. "Oh, that's cool! Any upcoming gigs?" Ross scowls at me, and I remember that he thinks I was laughing at Joey's butt-double thing. It seems that Ross has mostly gotten over this suspicion, though, considering he let these guys buy pizza and watch a movie with me.

"Yeah, well, there's this one thing. . . ." Joey says, not looking like he's planning to say anything more on the subject.

Chandler smirks at him. "And why don't you tell our guest about your big gig." I can tell he's holding back laughter. "I mean, it's only fair you get to talk about it. After all your years of struggling, you've finally been able to _crack_ your way into show business." Joey rolls his eyes.

"That's fine, really," I say. "So, what do you two do?" I look at Chandler and Ross, as if I don't already know their answers.

"I'm a paleontologist," Ross replies.

I smile—not smirk—and say, "Nerdy."

"And my job involves statistical analysis and data reconfiguration."

"Ooh, better job title," I say. "Chandler wins."

He smiles triumphantly and asks me what I do.

"That's actually kind of interesting," I say. "I inherited a crap-ton of money after my parents both died in a car wreck, so I pretty much just do whatever the hell I want. I've been drifting between jobs for a while now, but I currently choose to spend my free time illustrating children's books."

"Oh, I'm sorry about your parents," Chandler says.

I wave dismissively. "Oh, it's no problem. Mom was a bitch anyway. Plus, I got a lot of money, so it's not _all_ bad."

"O-_kay_. Congratulations, then?"

"Thanks!" I smile. "So, when are we going to continue watching the movie?"

Ross grabs the remote. "Right now." The movie resumes.

* * *

_Sorry for the long wait. I wasn't really expecting to update this story quickly, anyway. It may take me a couple weeks to get each chapter out, though I hopefully will not take this long for most of the chapters._

_I hope you guys enjoyed!_


	4. Good Company

_Thanks for the reviews!_

_**Prof-the F.R.I.E.N.D.S fanatic**__ – Now you made Channa even more appealing to me! I just _have_ to get Chandler and Anna together now—at least temporarily. Oh, and just a side note: Even though this story is written in first person, I'm not writing this story to fulfill some lifelong desire to date the fictional and unattainable Chandler Bing. I may have some things in common with Anna (such as shyness, redheadedness, and a love for __Die Hard__ and pizza), but Anna is not based on me. She's supposed to represent the typical __Friends__ viewer; that's why she watches the Friends while they pay no notice to her—like she's watching them on a television screen. Anyway, I'm glad you like the story, and I hope I can get more people to see the appeal to Channa, 'cause I think it's just _gotta_ happen now._

_I hope you guys enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 4 – **_**Good Company**_

It must be later than I thought, because by the end of the movie, I feel my eyelids growing heavy—and _Die Hard_ is not typically the type of film to put its audience to sleep. I start to slip into unconsciousness just as the credits roll and "Let It Snow" begins to play. In my last moments of awareness, I hear Joey comment, "_Die Hard_—still great!"

. . .

I wake up the next morning, finding myself still on the couch, now with a blanket over me. I realize what woke me up when I notice Chandler in the kitchen area, rummaging through the refrigerator. He turns away from the refrigerator when he finds what he wanted: a leftover slice of pizza. I can't help letting out a soft chuckle. He turns to me.

"Oh, sorry, did I wake you?" he asks. "I was just getting a midnight snack."

Oh, so maybe it _isn't_ the next morning.

"No, actually, I was wondering why you didn't wake me before," I say. "You know, after the movie."

"Oh," he says, taking a bite out of his cold pizza. "Well, I would've felt bad waking you up only to force you to leave all sleepy and stuff, and make you go out in the cold, groggily searching for some place to spend the night."

"So you just let me stay here?" He nods. I smile. "Oh. Well, thanks."

"You can go back to sleep now. I'm sorry for waking you," he says. "Maybe in the morning we can sort this all out. We're friends with the girls across the hall, and I'm sure they'd be fine with letting you stay with them. I doubt you want to stay in this tiny apartment with two guys. Plus, Monica loves guests."

"Wait, you'd really do all of that for me?" I smile. "Wow. You guys are _really_ nice." And to think, I used to perceive them as a bunch of noisy, arrogant jerks.

"It's no trouble, really," Chandler says. "You're good company."

My smile widens. "I am?"

Chandler nods. "Well, yeah," he says. "You're all . . . nice and stuff."

"Me?" I ask. "Nice? You don't happen to remember me barging in here, stealing your pizza, calling you unattractive, and crashing on your couch, do you?"

He laughs. "Oh, come on. You lost your apartment; it's only fair."

"You don't even _know_ me!"

Chandler shrugs with a small smile. "Doesn't matter."

. . .

I went to bed soon after that, the only delay caused by a brief "argument" between me and Chandler in which we each insisted that the other take Chandler's bed for the night. Eventually, I decided that there was no convincing him, and I let him sleep on the couch.

I wake up a few hours later and leave Chandler's room. This time it actually _is_ morning; sunlight shines through two windows on the far wall and hits the television set. I see Joey standing by the TV, looking like he's trying to turn it. "Stupid glare," I hear him mutter under his breath. "Stupid daytime."

"Hey, Joe," I call. "Where's Chandler?"

"Work," he replies without turning around.

"You're not normally awake at this hour, are you?" I ask with a cocked eyebrow.

"Not exactly." He shakes his head. "What time is it, anyway?"

I turn to check the time on the stove. "Nine thirty." He barely acknowledges my reply. I let him struggle with the television for a few more seconds, finding myself entertained.

"You know," I say, "I think I could help you with that."

Joey immediately turns around. "I'm interested."

"Well, you see, it's just simple angles and— All I have to do is . . . Okay, there. Try that out." I back away from the newly-adjusted television set.

Joey takes a seat on the couch and uses a remote to turn on the TV. "Wow!" he practically shouts, a huge grin on his face. "No glare!"

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" I say. "So, when's that gig thing of yours?"

"Later today," Joey says, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Oh. Well, good luck with the audition." Not knowing what else to say, I ask, "So . . . When will Chandler be back?"

Joey shrugs. "Later. Why?"

"Just . . . bored."

"Oh, right, yeah; you're unemployed," Joey says with an exaggerated look of realization. "I forgot."

"I'm not _unemployed_," I insist sternly. "I'm a lot of things, Joey Tribbiani. I'm orphaned, homeless, and companionless—but I am _not_ unemployed. I am a children's book illustrator, _okay_?"

Joey holds up his hands defensively. "Jeez, sorry." He frowns. For a terrifying moment, I'm afraid that he's going to ask me how I know his last name, but then I remember that he's _Joey_. "Wait, if you're bored, then why don't you just . . . illustrate a children's book?"

I sigh. "No inspiration." I fall onto the couch. "So, Joey, what do _you_ do all day when you don't have an acting gig or audition?"

He shrugs. "Go to the coffeehouse? My friend Rachel works there, and Phoebe plays there sometimes."

"Really?" I say, acting surprised. "What kind of music does she play?" I have to suppress a smirk when he struggles to find an answer.

Finally, he says, "Maybe you ought to just hear her for yourself."

. . .

"_Love is sweet as summer showers. Love is a wondrous work of art. But your love, oh your love, your love is like a giant pigeon, crapping on my heart._"

I clap as Phoebe continues "la la la"ing. Turning to Joey, I say quietly, "Well, her music certainly is _unique_; I'll give her that." When Phoebe finishes her "la la la"s, Rachel comes over to me and Joey.

"Hey, Joey," she says with a smile. From my time spying on these six over the months, I've noticed that Rachel only looks happy with her job when at least one of the other five is here. I wonder what that's like, craving the presence of others. Is that why I keep thinking of Chandler? What is this strange feeling? Do I . . . _miss_ him?

"Who's this?" Rachel asks, probably assuming I'm Joey's newest girlfriend.

"Anna," I say quickly, disturbed at the thought. "I just stayed with Joey and his roommate Chandler last night after my apartment burned down. I'm nobody, really." I swallow thickly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Rachel replies. "If you want, you can stay with me and Monica until you find a new place. We live right across the hall, and I'm sure you don't want to stay with a couple of dirty, stinky boys."

"Hey!" Joey calls, looking insulted.

I laugh. "That's very kind of you, but I wouldn't want to be a burden."

"Oh, no, it would be fine," Rachel insists. "Monica loves guests."

"Yeah, I keep hearing that." I smile. "Well . . . I suppose I could try it for _one_ night."

"That's great!" Rachel exclaims. Just then, Phoebe comes over, now done with her song.

"What's great?" she asks.

"Monica and I just got a new roommate!" Rachel squeals.

I clear my throat. "Um, temporary roommate."

"Oh, believe me," Rachel says, "once you see this place and how Monica treats her guests, you won't be able to leave."

I shrug. "If you say so." I've never had a roommate before, and I'm not exactly a people person, so the thought of staying with these people any longer than one night terrifies me. I force a hoarse reply: "Let's go check this place out, then."

* * *

_Well, this chapter was excruciatingly dull to both write and read over for typos. If I'm lucky, some great burst of inspiration will come to me overnight and allow me to write a half-decent chapter five. As for now, however, I must give my banal farewell:_

_I hope you guys enjoyed!_

_(Though I doubt it.)_


	5. New Roommate

_Thanks for the reviews!_

_**Prof-the F.R.I.E.N.D.S fanatic**__ – I've always found it absurd how Mondler fans always seem to be completely opposed to either Monica or Chandler dating anyone besides Chandler or Monica. But how realistic would it be for neither of them to date until they meet each other and fall in love without even _noticing_ anyone else? How would they even know they like each other without having any past relationships to compare their current one to? Come on, guys.  
Anyway, rant's over. Point is: I love that I have at least one reader who's open to Chandler dating someone other than Monica for once._

_I hope you guys enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 5 – **_**New Roommate**_

Not fifteen minutes later, I find myself back in the hallway between apartments 19 and 20. This time, Rachel leads me, followed by Phoebe and Joey, into apartment 20. For some reason, it was absurdly easy for Rachel to convince her boss (Gunther, the guy at the counter with the white hair who gives me my coffee each day) to let her leave work for a few hours.

We enter the apartment, which is bigger than I expected and—oh, hey, it's _purple_!

"Mon's at work right now," Rachel says, "but I'm just going to let you take a look around."

Joey glances at the bathroom. "You think Monica would mind me taking some lotion?" We all give him confused looks. "The audition is today," he says, followed by our simultaneous "oh"s of understanding.

Joey now gives me a confused look of his own. "You know about the audition?"

"Oh, I may have . . . overheard about it," I say uncomfortably. I force a weak smile. "Congratulations, by the way. You know, 'cause Al Pacino's in it and whatnot. Sounds like a big deal."

Joey smiles. "Oh, thanks." He gives Rachel and Phoebe an "I told you so" look. He then turns back to me and says, "They only focused on the 'butt-double' part."

I scoff and shake my head. "How immature."

"Oh, come on, Joe," Phoebe says. "We're happy for you, really!"

"Yeah, whatever. I don't have time for this; I need to get ready for my audition."

"Mon has some lotion in the bathroom," Rachel offers. "She'd probably tell you to use however much you want; just don't ever bring that bottle back."

"Okay, thanks!" Joey runs off to the bathroom, coming back with a large bottle of lotion in his hands. He takes off for his apartment, clumsily throwing the door closed behind him.

"_Any_way," I say, "this place looks really nice—much better than my old apartment."

"So you'll stay here?" Rachel asks hopefully.

I shrug and smile. "Sure, why not?"

"Oh, yay!" Rachel says.

. . .

Later that day, we're all in the apartment except Joey. After hearing from Rachel that I would be staying with them, Monica seemed a little mad. I think it was more about Rachel making the decision without asking her than it was about her not wanting me to stay with them because she's still letting me stay.

I've now officially spoken with all six members of the group, and I've decided that I like this bunch. Sure, they can be loud and a little obnoxious at times, but, to be fair, I'm often way too quiet and reserved, so I might have a warped view when I compare myself to them. Plus, I really can't have any complaints about a group of people who would take in a complete stranger because she lost her apartment, can't I?

Rachel, Monica, Phoebe, and I are all sitting around the couch while Ross and Chandler talk over at the table by the front door. While the three other women are talking, I kind of zone out, and then I do that thing I do sometimes where I rest my chin on my fist and somehow wind up eavesdropping, this time on Chandler and Ross.

"Look at it this way," Ross says. "_You_ dumped _her_, right? I mean, this woman was unbelievably sexy, and beautiful, intelligent, unattainable . . . Tell me why you did this again?"

My head jerks up. My arm drops to my side. Has Chandler been . . . seeing someone? He let me stay at his apartment while he had a _girlfriend_? The thought weirds me out, and I wonder how this girl would feel if she knew I had stayed with him, or if she already did know.

I don't have much time to ponder these thoughts when Joey enters the apartment.

"Hey, wait, aren't you the guy that plays the butt in the new Al Pacino movie?" Monica jokes.

With a sigh, Joey replies with a simple "Nope."

We all give him confused looks, and Ross asks, "No? What happened, big guy?" This prompts Chandler to give him a weird look, to which Ross replies, "It felt like a 'big guy' moment."

Finally, Joey explains: "I got fired. They said I acted too much with it."

"Oh, Joe, I'm sorry," I say. Despite having his friends constantly tease him for it, I know that this was a big deal for him.

"I told _everybody_ about this!" he continues. "Now everybody's gonna go to the theatre, expecting to see me, and—"

Rachel interrupts him. "Oh, Joey, you know what? No one is gonna be able to tell."

"My mom will," Joey says.

I can tell Chandler wants to say something, so I speak before giving him the opportunity. "I know this sucks, Joey, but there'll be more gigs in the future, right?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. It's just . . . I've done nothing but crappy plays for six years. I finally get my shot, and I blow it!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I say. "You think _this_ was your shot?"

"Well, yeah."

"Joey," I say sternly, "you were going to be some guy's _butt-double_. That's not even a _role_." I sigh. "This was _not_ your shot."

Joey gives me a weird look. "I'm not really sure if that's supposed to help me."

"No, she may have a point," Ross cuts in. "I mean, I think when it's your shot, you _know_ it's your shot. Did it . . . _feel_ like your shot?"

Joey gives a small half-shrug. "Hard to tell; I was naked."

"No, I don't think this was your shot," Phoebe says. "I don't even think you just get _one_ shot. I really believe big things are gonna happen for you." We all smile at that as Phoebe continues. "You've gotta just keep thinking about the day that some kid is gonna run up to his friends and go 'I got the part! I got the part! I'm gonna be Joey Tribbiani's ass!'"

"Yeah?" Joey asks hopefully. "That's so nice!" He hugs her. Then Ross and Chandler look at each other and hug as well, making me laugh.

"I'm gonna go to bed, guys," Monica announces a moment later. She already set up where I'll be sleeping, so I don't have to ask.

We all say goodnight to her as she gets up to leave for her room. Just before she opens the door, Ross stops her. "Uh, Mon. You're gonna leave your shoes out here?"

She freezes, looking uncomfortable for a moment before saying with determination, "Uh-huh!"

"Really?" Rachel asks. "Just casually strewn about in that reckless haphazard manner?"

"Doesn't matter," Monica insists. "I'll get 'em tomorrow. Or not." She shrugs. "Whenever." Finally, she enters her room, closing the door behind her.

"She _is_ a kook," Ross comments.

I give him a confused look. "What just happened?"

Chandler answers. "Monica can get a little . . . obsessive. At times."

"Oh," I say. "Well, maybe I'll just get her shoes for her. . . ." I start to stand when Ross stops me.

"No, if you fix her shoes, then she'll never learn!"

I roll my eyes. "You guys are idiots. I'm going to bed."

* * *

_I hope you guys enjoyed!_


	6. Blackouts and Weird Sex Stories

_Thanks for the reviews!_

_**Boris Yeltsin**__ – Yay, I've recruited another Channa supporter! :D_

_**Prof-the F.R.I.E.N.D.S fanatic**__ – I've been trying to keep my chapters shorter. For some reason, it's more motivating to me knowing that I can have off-days and still have a chapter uploaded within a few weeks (hahaha, yeah right). I also enjoy frustrating my readers, which is why it takes me weeks to write such short chapters._

_**123xoxo3211 **__– Yay, yet another Channa supporter! This is turning out much more nicely than I expected._

_**Exintaris**__ – Yes, I do have quite a knack for those unusual themes. I'm glad you're enjoying it._

_Sorry for the long wait, but that's to be expected when it's me you're dealing with. Actually, I've had this chapter done for about a month now. I don't know why I didn't upload it. I think I'm losing it._

_I hope you guys enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 6 – **_**Blackouts and Weird Sex Stories**_

We're all seated in Central Perk except Chandler. He had to go to the ATM. I've been staying with Monica and Rachel for about a week now, and I've become close enough to this group that they now let me hang out with them at the coffeehouse—which, I must say, is much more fun than watching them from afar.

Rachel, who is now working her night shift, goes to the microphone and gets everyone's attention. "Everybody, Central Perk is proud to present the music of Miss Phoebe Buffay." There is some light applause as she steps away and goes back to serving customers.

Phoebe steps up to the microphone with her guitar. "Hi. Um, I want to start with a song that's about that moment when you suddenly realize what life is all about. Okay, here we go." She plays a chord just as all the lights go out. "Okay, thank you very much."

. . .

Fifteen minutes later, we're back in Monica and Rachel's (oh, and _my_) apartment. Monica is on the phone with her mother, Joey is searching for candles, and we have no idea where Chandler is. I hope he's okay. Apparently, almost the entire city is blacked out.

"Mom says it's all of Manhattan, parts of Brooklyn, and Queens," Monica says, speaking to us though she's still on the phone. "They have no idea when it's coming back on." Then, into the phone, she continues speaking with her mother. "Pants and a sweater? Why, Mom? Who am I gonna meet in a blackout? Power company guys? Eligible looters? Could we talk about this later? Okay." She hangs up.

Phoebe reaches for the phone. "Can I borrow the phone? I want to call my apartment and check on my grandma." To Monica, she asks, "What's my number?" Monica and Rachel look at Phoebe strangely. "Well, I never call _me_," she says.

. . .

A little while later, Joey returns to the apartment with a lit menorah.

Ross gives him a double-take. "And officiating at tonight's blackout is Rabbi Tribbiani."

"Well, Chandler's old roommate was Jewish," Joey says, "and these are the only candles we have, so . . . Happy Hanukah, everyone."

Over at the window, Phoebe announces, "Eww, look. Ugly Naked Guy lit a bunch of candles."

"Ugly Naked Guy?" I ask. We all run over to the window, and I freeze when I see a man in the apartment across the street. "Oh. Ugly Naked Guy. Of course. I don't know what I expected."

. . .

Some time later, the phone rings, and Monica answers. "Hello?" She turns to the rest of us after a moment and says, "It's Chandler!" A weird part of me exclaims _Yay, he's alive!_ Back on the phone, Monica continues to speak with Chandler. "Are you okay?" she asks. "What? . . . I have no idea what you just said." She hands the phone to Joey.

"What's up man?" Joey greets him. A moment later, he turns to us and exclaims, "Oh my God! He's trapped in an ATM vestibule with Jill Goodacre!" He continues talking with Chandler, giving him advice or something; meanwhile, I'm wondering who the heck Jill Goodacre is.

Eventually, Joey hangs up and returns the phone to Monica.

"So . . . what do we do now?" I ask, finding myself bored.

"I guess we could just . . . talk about stuff," Ross suggests.

I yawn. "Talk about _what_? Just talking sounds boring. Maybe we should get Chandler on speakerphone so it's like he's here with us."

"No!" Joey shouts. "We can't! We can't ruin his chances with _Jill Goodacre_. I just gave him some golden advice, and he better use it. We can call him again later, okay?"

I roll my eyes. "Fine. What do _you_ suggest we do? 'Cause just talking sounds boring as hell."

"Well, what if we talked about something _interesting_?" Joey asks.

"Such as?"

"Sex."

I let out a snort of laughter. "Joey, you always want to talk about sex."

"Not _always_," Phoebe cuts in. "Sometimes he talks about sandwiches."

"Or _Die Hard_," Rachel offers.

"Yeah," Joey says. "I don't _always_ talk about sex. We should talk about . . . the weirdest place we've ever done it."

With how bored we all are, it doesn't take much more than that to convince us. "Okay, I'll go," says Monica first. "Senior year of college . . . on a pool table."

After several "whoa"s of surprise from the others, Ross comments, almost shamefully, "That's my sister."

I turn to him and say sarcastically, "Yeah, 'cause I'm sure _your_ weirdest place is super bland and ordinary, like . . . the foot of the bed."

He sighs. "Okay, fine. Disneyland, 1989, It's a Small World After All."

My eyes widen. "Wait—what?"

"The ride broke down," Ross says, "so, Carol and I went behind a couple of those mechanical Dutch children. Then they fixed the ride, and we were asked never to return to the Magic Kingdom."

"Wow," I say, almost . . . impressed?

"Okay," Joey says. "My weirdest place would have to be . . . the women's room on the second floor of the New York City public library."

"Oh my God!" Monica exclaims. "What were _you_ doing in a library?" I laugh, but I stop when I see Joey glaring at me. I guess I'm still too new to the group to be laughing at _look-how-dumb-Joey-is_ jokes.

I change the subject by asking for Phoebe's answer, expecting some crazy kinky story about some time in which she did it on the back of a shark.

"Oh," she says, thinking for a moment before deciding. "Milwaukee."

Then we all look to Rachel. "Oh come on, I already went," she insists.

"You did _not_ go!" Monica and I say at the same time.

Rachel turns to me and says, "Well, neither did _you_!"

"Okay," I say slowly, thinking. "_You_ go, and then I'll go."

She sighs. "Oh, all right. The weirdest place would have to be . . ." Another sigh. "Oh, the foot of the bed."

"We have a winner!" Joey announces, making me laugh, which causes Rachel to glare at me.

"You're turn," she says smugly.

* * *

_I hope you guys enjoyed!_

_Again, sorry for the super long wait. I still don't know why I didn't upload this chapter. I'm already halfway through the next chapter, yet I completely neglected to upload this one. I'm seriously concerned for my mental health._


	7. Maybe Probably Yeah Right

_Thanks for the reviews!_

_**Boris Yeltsin**__ – XD I think the first episode I saw was "The One with the Two Parties." I didn't see the entire episode—just the scene where Chandler is comforting Rachel in the hall. Now you've gone and made me all nostalgic._

_I hope you guys enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 7 – **_**Maybe. Probably. Yeah. Right.**_

I stand up abruptly. "We should check up on Chandler."

"What?" Ross asks. "Why?"

"I think something's wrong," I say. "I just . . . have a feeling. Phoebe, did you feel that?" I know I can count on Pheebs to get me out of this one.

"Feel what?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Come _on_, she's just trying to get out of having to take her turn."

I continue as if Rachel did not say a word. "No, Phoebe, did you _feel_ that?"

"I didn't feel anything." She gives me a look of half confusion, half concern.

I start pacing. "Oh, this is bad. This is really, really, _really_ bad." Just as the others are about to ask what I'm referring to, I continue: "I mean, if even _Phoebe_ can't feel it . . . I'm gonna call Chandler." I reach for the phone and dial.

"Anna," Ross says. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"Shh! I'm on the _phone_!" My frightened countenance dissipates when I hear Chandler greet me. "Hey, Chan, what's up?" I reply, smiling giddily.

"Uh, nothing much. _You_ called _me_," he points out.

"Oh, right." I pause, trying to come up with something not stupid to say. "So . . . what's up?"

"You already asked that."

I nod. "Ah, right."

I can hear his amused smile. "Anna, is everything okay over there?"

"Yeah, 'course, why wouldn't it be?" I shrug, and it takes me a moment's delay to feel stupid, realizing that he can't see me. "Oh, so how are things going with that Jill Goodwhatever chick?" At this point, Joey is pulling the phone away from me. He puts it on speakerphone.

"Hey, man, what's up?" Joey asks.

"Nothing!" Chandler exclaims. "Absolutely _nothing_! Why do people keep asking me that?"

"Chan, where's the weirdest place you've ever done it?"

"Joey, am I on speakerphone?"

"Yeah, sorta."

"Could you maybe . . . take me _off_ of it?"

"Yeah, sure, man." Holding the phone up to his ear, Joey asks, "So, weirdest place?" A pause. "Oh, come on, it can't be _that_ bad. Ross had sex with a lesbian while surrounded by little Dutch children." Another pause, this one longer. Joey's face lights up. "No _way_! I can't even _picture_ you doing _that_! . . . No, I mean, I don't _like_ to picture you."

I mutter under my breath, "You two are _disturbing_."

"So how are things going between you and the _model_?" He voices the last word with a sing-song tone.

I turn to Phoebe and whisper, "He's not gay, is he?"

"Oh, Chandler gets that a lot on first impression, but he insists that he's not." She laughs. "Yeah, _okay_."

"No, not Chandler. Joey."

"Oh," Phoebe says. "No. I mean, I don't . . . think so." She seems to consider it for a moment. "Who knows, maybe."

We both stare at each other for several long seconds, contemplating the idea. Then, in unison, we both say a dismissive "_Nah_."

Eventually, Joey hangs up, informing us that Chandler _still_ has not spoken a word to this Goodacre lady, which fills me with an unexpected and unexplained relief. Apparently, Jill Goodacre is some kind of model, and I guess a weird stereotyping part of me assumes that she's a bitch and would be a bitch to Chandler if he were to hit on her. That must be why it's such a relief to hear that he's keeping his affections to himself. I don't want the poor guy to get hurt.

Monica and Phoebe leave in pursuit of candles that are not associated with any major religions. Joey is on the couch. I'm in the kitchen, pretending to look for food while eavesdropping on Ross and Rachel. I see no need to feel bad about it; I'm sure Joey is doing the same. There has been something suspicious going on between the two R.G.s ever since the female reentered the male's life after a long absence. It only makes sense. They both recently got out of a serious relationship, and they both probably think that the presence of the other will ease the pain, but the other is simply a rebound.

"I just never had a relationship with that kind of passion," Rachel says. "You know, where you have to have somebody right there, in the middle of a theme park."

Hmm . . . or maybe not?

"Well, it was the only thing to do there that didn't have a line."

"There, well, see?" Rachel continues. "Barry wouldn't even kiss me on a miniature golf course."

Ross gives her an incredulous look. "Come on."

"No, he said we were holding up the people behind us."

"And you didn't marry him because...?"

Wow, okay, yeah—maybe not.

Maybe . . . maybe this is part of the reason neither of their respective relationships worked out (well, _that_ and lesbianism). The two R.G.s knew each other long ago, back when Rachel was in high school and Ross in college. Perhaps Ross had a bit of a crush on her, and perhaps Rachel had some reciprocating feelings somewhere deep down. But it was not meant to be—no, not yet. They drifted apart, lived their separate lives, found someone, settled down. But it didn't work out. Why? Because the feelings were still there.

_Maybe._

"I mean, do you think there are people who go through life never having that kind of . . ."

"Probably."

_Probably._

"But you know," Ross says, "I'll tell you something. Passion is way overrated."

"Yeah right."

_Yeah._

_Right._

"It is," he insists. "Eventually, it kind of . . . burns out. But hopefully, what you're left with is trust, and security, and . . . well, in the case of my ex-wife, lesbianism. So, you know, for all of those people who miss out on that passion . . . thing: there's all that other good stuff." Rachel sighs, about to accept it, when Ross continues. "But, um . . . I don't think that's going to be you."

"You don't?"

He nods. "I see . . . big passion in your future."

"Really? You do?"

"I do."

_Do you take Rachel Green to be your lawfully wedded wife?_

"Oh Ross, you're so great." She playfully tousles his hair and gets up, walking out of the room.

_Dammit Rachel!_

_You were supposed to kiss him, you idiot!_

Disappointed with the outcome of this exchange, I decide to look for food for real now, realizing that I haven't eaten dinner yet. I pull out various sandwich-making materials, which must have gotten Joey's attention because when I turn to place my completed sandwich on the table, he's standing right behind me. I nearly jump.

"Would you like a sandwich, Joe?" I ask once I've calmed my nerves.

"Yes please."

I hand him my plate. "Here, take mine. I wasn't really hungry anyway."

"Thanks!" Through a bite of sandwich, he asks, "Why aren't you hungry?"

I shrug. "Dunno. I think I'm nervous about . . . something. I'm not really sure what."

Several seconds go by. Then, Joey mutters, "Huh."

"What? Do _you_ know why?" I ask, hopeful.

"No, it's just . . . you could've used a _little_ more mayo."

"Gee sorry," I say. After a moment, I ask, "How do you think Chandler's doing?"

Joey shrugs. "I don't know. He's probably just standing around or blabbering like an idiot." He shakes his head. "That man is _not_ getting laid tonight."

* * *

_I honestly cannot believe how quickly I wrote this chapter. I guess it helps that I had half of it written before I even posted the previous one._

_I hope you guys enjoyed!_


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